Wounded
by Jessica Cornell
Summary: "You can hate yourself all you want, Charlie, but I know that if you killed that kid it's because you had no other choice." Charlie faced away from him, taking a swallow of the brown fiery liquid. It burned her stomach. "There's always a choice, Monroe. Just not always a nice one. You'd know that if there was any shred of humanity left in you." Another after-Jason-dies fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, just a little something to distract me from life. Huge Revolution fan and so pissed it was cancelled. Anyway, this takes place during the episode where Miles falls down a hole and Bass, Charlie, and Rachel go off to find him. This starts off with Tom and Charlie's encounter, but goes off in a different direction. I never believed that Tom Neville having found out that Charlie killed his son would fire a clip into the wall behind her instead of trying to shoot her in the face. LOL. Anyway, that being said, can't have Charlie dying right off the bat, sooooo… **

**Charloe all the way, but slow burn. **

Charlie walked as slow as possible until Tom Neville shoved the barrel of his handgun into the back of her head.

"Walk faster," he hissed, pushing her until she stumbled.

She caught herself and picked up the pace. Strangely, her thoughts turned to Monroe in that instant. She was inevitably walking to her death just as he had. Had he felt this way too? Terrified? She'd wished for death a thousand times but not that it was here she was scared.

There was a lone house up ahead. Neville grabbed her arm and forced her into it. He closed the door behind her and motioned her toward the far wall. She swallowed hard and complied.

"Now, Miss Matheson, you are going to tell me where my son is."

He was scared too, she realized. Scared for Jason. Scared of what she might say to him. Charlie's throat was suddenly dry, but it wasn't from fear anymore. Her heart clenched as Jason's lifeless face flashed across her mind. Tom must've seen something in her face because his gaze sharpened.

"You know something. What is it?" He leveled the gun at her face. The safety was off. "Tell me or your pretty face is going to have one ugly hole in it."

"Jason, he- he's not with us." Her voice sounded weak to her ears.

"I don't believe you. He's always had a thing for you, God knows why. I tried to warn him you're nothing but trouble. You and that family of yours." He looked at her, disgusted, and she looked down.

"I'm telling you the truth. Jason… the Patriots, they did something to him. To his mind."

Neville's face twitched in recognition. He knew what she was talking about. "So, where is he? The Patriots got him?"

Charlie looked up suddenly, tears unable to stay at bay anymore. Her jaw clenched from the force of trying to keep it together. "We went to Austin. Jason… he came with us. To help." There was a moment of silence while she took a deep breath, reconciling the fact that she was about to die. That she deserved to die. "He did help. We were able to figure out the Patriot's plan."

Tom shifted his stance. "This is all fascinating, but skip to the part where you tell me where Jason it."

"He- The Patriot's got to him. They said the code and he changed. Jason was gone." Her voice cracked a little.

Tom rubbed his eyes. He looked worried but she could tell his mind wasn't going to the worst scenario. Not yet. "Those bastards," he muttered, looking away for a moment. "Nevermind. I'll find him and snap him out of it. Consider your next words carefully, Miss Matheson. If you want to live, you'll help me find him. Where is he? Last chance."

Charlie closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Tom's eyes narrowed. He could tell something was wrong with her. "I tried so hard, but he wouldn't stop. He just kept coming. And coming." Her fists clenched. "I couldn't stop him," she repeated, a pleading tone entering her voice.

Tom was a little pale now. His mind was beginning to put some terrible pieces together. "What are you talking about?" His voice was raspy. "What did you do?"

Charlie couldn't say it. Tears ran freely down her face. "He wouldn't stop," she repeated more to herself than Tom.

"No. No," he said, disbelieving. He came closer, motioning with the gun. "I don't believe you."

"Jason is … dead," she finished, saying the awful words. "I killed him."

Tom's face twisted in anguish. "You? You killed him? You killed my boy? He loved you and you killed him."

Charlie didn't deny it. "I didn't want to. I cared about him too."

"You shut up," Tom hissed, rage coloring his face now. "You shut your mouth."

He was going to shoot her. She could tell. Her only hope was to distract him and take him down. She'd probably get shot in the process, but if she did nothing she'd definitely get shot. And killed.

"You blame me for his death? If you want to blame someone, blame yourself."

Tom looked at her then, incredulous at her words. "Excuse me?"

Mustering up some sort of bravery, she continued on. "You heard me. The only reason the Patriots got ahold of him the first place was because of you. You let them twist his mind until he lost himself. That's what got him killed. You."

"Shut up, that's not true." Tom breathed heavy, but the gun in his hand wavered a little. "Everything I ever did was for him. And Julia."

"You should have let him know that. He died thinking you hated him. That everything you ever did was for you. For Tom Neville."

"Shut your lying mouth!" he shouted, struggling to maintain control.

"You know I'm right," she yelled back, this time leaping toward him to take the gun away. It didn't work. A shot fired and white-hot pain branded her abdomen. A fist collided with her cheek and lights danced across her vision.

"I'm going to do what I should've done that day on the train," Tom panted, standing over her with the gun at her face. "End your miserable life. Then I'm going to drag your dead body back to Willoughby, back to Miles Matheson. Let him see what I did to you." A sick smile crossed his face. "Or maybe I'll cut you up, bit by bit, and send him the pieces until it drives him mad. Either way, your time here on this Earth has ended. Say goodbye."

She could barely breathe, could barely see, but this was her last chance to save herself. "Goodbye," she whispered, then with one last burst of strength she kicked her leg at him knocking him off balance. With her other leg, she kicked him to the floor. A surge of adrenaline lifted her up and then she was on him, scrambling for the gun that had loosened in his grip. She planted her knee in his gut and somehow managed to twist the gun around and pull the trigger.

Another loud shot rang out and then she collapsed backward, hot sticky blood seeping from the wound on her side. Tom stayed down, never to rise again.

It was hard, but she forced herself up to feet, pressing a hand to staunch the flow of blood soaking her shirt and jeans. She took the gun she used to kill Tom Neville and staggered to the door. Grampa… get to Grampa.

Outside, the sun was bright and hot, She fell into a post by the front porch steps and grabbed it for dear life. If she fell again, she knew she wouldn't get back up and she would die out here before she could get to help. Dragging herself off the porch and down the dirt road Tom had forced her down, she very painfully and slowly retraced her steps to where she had split off from the others. She fired a shot in the air, hoping someone friendly would hear it and investigate. Her mom and Monroe couldn't be that far away.

It was only by sheer force of will that she kept herself upright. She fired another shot when her vision began to blur. A trickle of something ran down her nose and over her lips. Blood, she knew faintly.

"Charlie?"

Mom, she thought faintly, slowly turning toward the sound of her voice.

"Charlie!"

She must look bad, Charlie thought. Mom was panicking. Monroe was with her. He looked shocked and slightly panicked also. "Neville… he's dead." The gun dropped from her hand and hit the dirt. She was next. Someone caught her.

"I killed him."

"That's good, baby, just stay quiet now and I'm going to take care of you."

Monroe voice and then her mom's, a slicing pain, and then everything went black in spots. "I'm dying."

And then she felt herself go.

XXXXX

Patches of light and voices here and there. Brief feelings of fear and at other times peace. Miles' face kept flashing through her mind. He was in pain. Somewhere dark and cold. Trees… a familiar place...

Then Charlie opened her eyes, very slowly. Her throat was so dry it hurt.

"Charlie? Oh my god, you're awake." Her mother came into view, strained and pale.

"Miles…" Charlie rasped.

"Don't try and talk right now. I'm going to get Grandpa." And then she was gone.

No! Miles needed her. Charlie couldn't even lift her arm to stop her mother though. Her body was dead weight. "Miles…"

"You're one lucky girl, Charlotte." Monroe peered down at her. "I guess the Matheson blood runs strong in you."

"Miles. Where…"

"Just rest, kid." There was something in his face though that caused a surge of fear through her. Something was wrong.

"You didn't find him."

"Not yet."

"He's dying. Dark… cold…"

Now she'd gotten Monroe's attention. He crouched down and peered sharply into her face. "What are you talking about? You know where Miles is?"

She licked her lips. "I have to get up."

"Just tell me where he is and I'll go."

"Water."

Monroe grabbed a glass and filled, practically drowning her with it as he put it to her mouth. "Now, tell me where Miles is."

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift back to her strange snippets of dreams. "It's dark. Underground, maybe."

Monroe's expression shifted in a new light. "How do you know?"

Charlie had no explanation. He looked at her strangely, but didn't address the oddity of waking up from a near death experience and suddenly knowing where her uncle was.

"We didn't look anywhere underground." Only a heartbeat later and Monroe was gone.

Charlie closed her eyes in relief.

When she woke up again, it was dark. Only the flickering lamplight let her see that her mom sat in a chair next to her, asleep. "Mom," she whispered, throat dry again.

Rachel was awake in an instant. "Sweetie, you're awake. How do you feel?"

Her voice was still raspy but she could speak better now. "Like I got shot. Where's Miles? Did Monroe find him?"

Rachel's face flooded with relief as she nodded. "Yes, honey, he did and Miles is fine now. He's here."

"Water."

Rachel poured a glass and helped Charlie lift her head to drink. "Not too fast," she murmured and then set the glass back on the nightstand next to Charlie's bed. "I'll be back."

Charlie didn't argue, but she did struggle to get up. Weakness would get her killed and there was still a war going on. She couldn't lay here forever. Somehow, through nausea and breathtaking pain, she managed to swing herself over and up, feet hitting the wooden floor with a thump. She was in some sort of hospital gown which made sense since her clothes were probably bloody and full of holes. She needed to get new ones though. Patriots were still coming.

"Dammit, Rachel, I'm fine. I wanna see her."

Charlie lifted her head at the sound of Miles' voice suddenly outside the room. He came in holding his stomach and staggering toward her. Rachel and Gene followed close behind, Rachel gasping in surprise when she saw Charlie sitting up.

"Charlie, you need to lay back down right now. You were shot!" she said, rushing over to try and push her back to a prone position. Charlie wasn't having it though.

"Mom, I'm fine. I just want to sit for a minute. I won't try and walk around, promise."

Rachel bit her lip and then straightened up, frustrated. "Aren't you two a pair." She backed off, fuming a little, and helped Miles to sit in the chair next to Charlie's bed.

He groaned as he sank down into it, then made a face. "Guess we'll have matching scars now," he joked.

Charlie smiled weakly. "I'm glad you're safe."

"Yeah. Bass found my carcass and dragged me back here. Thanks, by the way."

From the way his eyes shifted somewhere behind her, she guessed that Monroe was behind her.

Rachel looked suddenly guilty and pursed her lips. "I guess our family has a lot to thank you for today, Bass. I don't think I could lose both Miles and Charlie in one day. Thank you."

Charlie looked at her mom strangely. She'd never seen her this thankful for anything in her whole life. Rachel noticed her confusion and explained.

"We found you on the road bleeding. You passed out. I thought you'd died. You were so heavy I couldn't have carried you on my own. If it wasn't for Bass I don't think you would've made it. He ran with you all the way back here." Rachel wiped her eyes and took a breath.

Charlie was surprised. Miles looked at Bass again and nodded. Everything was really uncomfortable for a moment. "I was too heavy to carry, huh?" she said after a moment. "I guess my fat ass will have to lay off lunch for awhile." She cracked a smile to show she was joking and the tension was broken.

"Well, if you're making jokes I guess you'll live," Miles said dryly.

"If you all don't mind clearing out, I need to check Charlie's wound," Gene said briskly, wiping suspicious moisture from his eyes as well.

Before her mom left the room, Charlie called out. "Hey, can you find me some clothes? I'm not staying in this hospital gown another day."

Rachel sighed and shook her head at the futility of trying to get her daughter to rest. "Yes, of course."

XXXXX

The next day was better but she was still bedridden. Or at least, chair-ridden. She'd asked her Grandpa to help her into the living room to a chair by a window. It had taken more effort than she'd thought it would, almost passing out on the way, but she'd made it. The problem, she thought, would be getting out of the chair later. Something about being in the bed made her feel trapped and vulnerable. This was better.

At the moment, she was alone. It was quiet except for the distant voices of her mom and the others. That silence was shattered when Connor walked inside. She was surprised at the instant distaste he conjured in her.

"You're up," he commented, coming over to sit next to her. "How are you feeling?"

"Crappy," she said.

He shook his head, his face darkening. "I knew we shouldn't have trusted that Jason guy."

She was confused. "Jason didn't shoot me. Tom did."

"Because of him. If Jason hadn't been with us in Austin none of this would've happened. I knew we shouldn't have brought him."

Charlie's eyes glittered. She was quiet for a moment, her sudden anger at Connor making her feel dizzy. It passed. "No offense but you're the last person I want to talk about Jason with."

Connor was taken aback. "Okay," he said slowly. "Don't tell me you still have a thing for him, after he tried to kill you?"

"He was brainwashed by the Patriot's. It wasn't his fault and I tried to stop him." Emotions were beginning to make her vision blur and she took a deep breath to stop them. That only made it worse. A lancing pain ripped through her side almost choking her.

Connor rolled his eyes at her sentimentality, making her anger worse. "Whatever. Sorry I said anything." Before he could leave, she stopped him.

"What about you, Connor?"

He looked at her confused.

"Don't think we haven't noticed you and Monroe plotting together these last few weeks. Has he promised you an empire? Is that why you're here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. Monroe was desperate to keep you by his side, his long-lost son, and the only way he could do that was to promise you power. The Monroe Republic."

He didn't deny it this time.

"Just so you know, I'll die making sure that doesn't happen. I'll spend my entire life keeping Monroe from being in charge of anything ever again. You think you'd ever try and kill me?"

"Of course not."

"I'll guess we'll see. But I wouldn't talk about Jason anymore, if I were you. Because I did trust Jason and still would. But I don't trust you."

"I don't have to take this from you," he sneered standing up. "Not from Miles Matheson's lapdog."

"The lapdog you screwed."

"Yeah, well I didn't know you were a crazy bitch, just like your mom."

Charlie shrugged carelessly. "A crazy bitch who's saved your life numerous times."

Connor turned on her suddenly, swinging down to grip the arms of her chair with both hands. His face was close and contorted in anger. She didn't flinch away from him. "Why don't you shut your mouth? You know what we do to girls who talk too much in Mexico? My boss would have a great time with a piece of ass like you."

"I'm flattered."

He let out a angry noise and raised his fist. She thought he would hit her. To her surprise, she wasn't afraid of the pain. "Do it. Show me what a tough guy you are. Show me that you're more than just a semi pretty face, because so far I'm not impressed," she whispered.

They stared at each other for one long moment. His fist twitched and then lowered. Triumph reflected in her eyes. "I thought so. Let's get one thing straight. I loved Jason. Everything he did, he did for his family. He was the best man I ever knew and I hate myself for what I did to him. I _hate_ myself," she emphasized with quiet intensity. "But you? I slept with you to pass the time. To scratch an itch, relieve some of the tension of constantly being shot at."

She had no idea what Connor would've said or done had they not been interrupted by the slamming of the screen door. Monroe looked between them.

"What's going on here?"

Connor looked back at Charlie and shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered and then pushed away from the chair and stormed out of the house.

Monroe looked at his retreating back and then at Charlie. She set her jaw and didn't flinch from his stare. Then he smiled. "You Matheson's sure have a way with words."

"What do you want?"

Monroe shrugged lightly. "Just heard voices and thought I'd check it out."

Charlie looked away, suddenly exhausted. "You should be happy. I won't be-how did you put it?-_banging_ your son anymore."

Instead of leaving like she thought and hoped he would, his heavy boots grew closer. He dragged a chair with him, setting it right in front of her and then taking a seat. She looked at him, suddenly wary.

"How did you know about Miles?" he asked

"I don't know. I just did."

He nodded, not really believing her. "A lot of weird stuff has been happening lately. People being set on fire, hallucinations… you suddenly knowing things about where Miles was. You know, he'd crawled out of some kind of hole in the ground. When I found him he was half-dead."

"You should be thanking me," she said shortly wishing he'd go away.

"Miles had some sort of personal awakening or whatever while he was down there. He's different now. Says he's tired of fighting. Wants to go off and marry your mom, set up house somewhere…" He half laughed, half-snorted.

"Good for him." Charlie's heart sped up though. Miles wouldn't really do that, would he? Leave her here and go off with Rachel somewhere.

Monroe gave a short laugh. "Your mom…" He shook his head. "She's always had some sort of magical effect on Miles, ever since before you were born."

Charlie closed her eyes. Her side was beginning to throb again. "You lived with her longer than I did. I barely know her."

"You know, I get what you're feeling right now. Pain, guilt, self-loathing…"

Charlie looked up at that, eyes narrowing.

He gave a faint smile. "But none of that is going to help you. You did what you had to do. We are all doing what we have to do right now."

She chose her words carefully. "And what happens afterwards? Do we get to do what we want to do? Tell me, Monroe, since you're such an expert."

He sobered suddenly and looked fully at her. "I wouldn't know. I've spent the last fifteen years doing what I had to do in the hopes that one day, I would get to do what I want to do. Like you, I suppose."

That comparison startled her. "What do you mean?"

"You've always looked out for someone. First, it was Danny, then Miles, then your mom, now it's… who? Certainly not yourself. You're here for them. Still."

"What do you care who I'm here for?"

"I don't. I'm just saying that if you keep this up you're going to get yourself killed." He gestured at her and she realized he meant her feelings about Jason's death.

Seething, she managed with great pain to get up out of the chair. Monroe looked up at her. "And _I'm_ telling _you_ that if you keep _this_ up, _you're_ going to be the one who dies." She staggered into the kitchen where she knew her Grandpa kept a bottle of whiskey and poured herself a glass.

"You can hate yourself all you want, Charlie, but I know that if you killed that kid it's because you had no other choice."

Charlie face away from him, taking a swallow of the brown fiery liquid. It burned her stomach. "There's always a choice, Monroe. Just not always a nice one. You'd know that if there was any shred of humanity left in you."

She more _felt_ him behind her than heard him. He could be very quiet when he wanted to be, she thought. His body heat radiated off him making her skin tingle.

"There's more humanity in me than you think, Charlie. I'm not quite the monster you want me to be. The next time you want to get smart, remember that it was me who saved you. For the third time, in fact. You'd be dead if it wasn't for me."

She didn't thank him, didn't even turn around. Part of her hated him for saving her. Part of her wanted to die. Quickly, she downed the rest of her drink and turned around. He was gone. She didn't know whether she was relieved or not.

XXXXX

"Your wound is healing nicely," Gene said, patting his granddaughter on the shoulder. "In spite of your efforts."

Charlie gave him a rare smile. Only he could bring it out of her now. "I'm sorry, Grampa."

He gave a chuckle. "I know you are. I also know that you won't rest no matter how much I want you to. You're so much like your mother."

She made a face at that and he chuckled again.

"Sweetheart, no matter how much you wish it wasn't so, it is. And it's not a bad thing. Rachel is the most determined woman I've ever met. She's strong and smart and extremely capable. You could do worse."

"Thanks, Dad."

They turned to see Rachel standing in the doorway, a light smile on her face. She came inside the room and kissed her dad on the top of his head. "How are you Charlie?"

"Grampa says I'm fine."

"Not fine," he corrected. "Mending. You still need to take it easy for another week or so. Maybe longer."

Right, like that would happen.

Rachel looked a bit uncomfortable and Charlie grew more alert. "What is it? Patriots?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I wanted to talk to you though."

"Okay." Charlie still wasn't at ease.

"We just got word that there is an encampment north of here. They want to meet."

"Why?" Charlie asked.

Rachel slowly shook her head. "We're not sure, but they seem to want to be from the Plains Nation."

"Are you going to meet them?"

"We talked about it and Miles is going to go. Monroe can't be trusted with diplomatic matters and if these people want to join us we can't say no. We're already down men and ammunition."

"Miles isn't going alone, is he?"

"No. I'm going with him."

Charlie looked at her. Her heart started thudding faster. "Just the two of you? What about Connor and Monroe?"

"It's better if they stay here and guard the area. We don't know when the Patriots will strike again. Besides, the last thing we need is Bass flying off and killing everyone."

"I should be going too." Charlie clenched her jaw and stood up quickly. Hissing in pain, she sat back down just as quickly.

"Honey, you have to stay here. You know that. You can't fight in your condition."

She didn't care. Miles and her mom were going off somewhere to meet people they didn't know and she was stuck here. "What if something happens?"

"If we're not back in three days, Bass is to come find us. He knows and agreed."

Charlie looked at her suspiciously. "He agreed? Why?"

Rachel shook her head. "He didn't want to, but Miles finally talked him into it."

Charlie stayed quiet. None of this sat well with her. "When are you guys leaving?"

Rachel touched her shoulder. "Tonight." A moment passed. "But I've told Miles I'm not going if you don't want me to. I don't really want to leave you so soon after what happened anyway."

Charlie wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell her mom to stay. She was miserable and part of her wanted her mom to be miserable too. But that wasn't right. She inched off the bed and stood slowly. Some of Monroe's words came back to her. "No, mom, go. You have to do what you have to do. Go, I'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

Charlie knew that part of her mom did want to go. To spend time with Miles alone. And she wasn't sure how she felt about that. "I'm sure."

Rachel nodded slowly. "Alright then. If you're sure I'll start packing."

"I'm going to sit outside," she announced after her mom had left the room. Gene had stayed quiet the whole time. "I need some air."

Later that night, they said their goodbyes to Miles and Rachel. Miles gave her a gruff hug and told her to keep an eye on "those two," namely Monroe and Connor. She said she'd do her best. Rachel also hugged her goodbye, but Charlie was far more reticent with her than with Miles. Still, it felt nice.

Then the pair set off into the night. Charlie pressed a hand over her healing wound and stared after them.

"What do we do now?" Connor asked his dad.

Monroe's voice was low and close. "Now we wait."

Connor let out a frustrated sigh and she heard him walk away. He was always too eager, she thought, and not just in the sack. Turning to go back inside, she almost ran into Monroe. "Jeez. Personal space much?"

"Sorry. I thought you might need help."

"I'm fine," she snapped pushing past him.

"Alright." He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry I asked."

Back in the house, she went to her room and shut the door. For the second time that week, tears ran freely down her face. She didn't know why she was so sad, she just knew that she was. She crawled into bed and laid on her good side and cried.

Outside, Monroe stood quietly listening to her, his expression unreadable to anyone who might be watching.


	2. Chapter 2

**This is for you JM2788! Hope you like it. There's another chapter too, coming sometime soon.**

The pain kept Charlie awake for most of the night. Her grandpa wouldn't give her anymore pills and she couldn't blame him. She'd had double the usual limit and they needed to conserve for future possible injuries.

There was something else she could use, though. And if she hadn't been blurry with pain, she'd never even contemplate asking who she was currently on her way to ask. Limping through the hallway and down the stairs, she made sure to be extra careful and quiet on her way past her grandpa's room. Monroe was most likely downstairs on the couch or on guard duty outside.

He had what she wanted.

One hand pressed tight to her side, she creeped through the living room and saw Connor asleep on the couch, instead of Monroe. Her head straightened up to look out the window. That meant he'd be outside.

Sure enough, after she left the house and shut the door quietly, she found him out front. He didn't look surprised to see her. She'd probably made enough noise to alert entire army on her way down here.

"Monroe," she said in a low voice.

"Yeah, kid?"

"I know you have whiskey." She lowered herself down onto a porch step and then reclined backwards against the others. "I need some."

He fished a bottle half-full out of his pocket and handed it to her. She used her teeth to uncork it, like a pirate, and then took three large swigs. "God," she said, coughing and hurting her stomach even more, "this is awful." Then she took another one.

Monroe took the bottle and drank from it himself. "Yeah, kid, but it gets the job done."

That it did. Charlie's vision swam, but her body felt good. The pain receded to the background. "What was whiskey like before the blackout?"

He chuckled. "Oh god, it was great. Better than this shit."

"I can remember ice cream," Charlie said, distantly envisioning the last time she'd had any. The night her whole life went to hell. "It was so good."

Monroe glanced over at her. "Yeah. It was." He was quiet for a moment. "What else do you remember?"

She thought for a minute to find the right word. "TV. These shows my mom would put on for me."

He gave a small laugh. "Cartoons?"

"Yeah."

"You were what, five? Six?" he asked.

"Five." She went quiet. "Danny was two or three. I can't remember. He sometimes had dreams about life before the blackout, but he couldn't really remember. I could … just enough to miss it."

She'd spent most of her life looking backwards, remembering what she missed. What she'd never get to see. It had been her undoing.

"I miss how easy everything used to be," he said quietly. "Waking up, going to work, going to bed…"

"I miss being happy." It came out before Charlie could stop it, and then she found that she didn't care if Monroe knew or not. Maybe it was the whiskey.

"I wouldn't know, kid. I don't think I was happy even before the blackout."

They sat in silence for what seemed like ages, passing the bottle back and forth until Charlie was straight up drunk. She wasn't a chatty drunk, nor a happy drunk.

Monroe would call her an moody drunk. She was to in her head.

"Did you always hate my mom," Charlie asked suddenly, "or was it because of the blackout?"

He looked at her in surprise and then noted how drunk she was. She wouldn't remember anything anyway. "I never exactly liked her, but I knew she had something to do with the blackout. She wouldn't tell me. It pissed me off."

"Could you blame her for not telling you?" Charlie slurred. "I mean, I wouldn't've told you either."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't blame her for not telling me, but I sure as hell blamed her for my wife dying in childbirth-over something that could've been prevented." There was a steely undertone in his voice that caught her attention.

"Your wife?"

"Yeah."

"That's … sad." Charlie couldn't think of a better more apt word than that. "I wish that hadn't have happened."

Monroe finally turned to her, a smile on his face. "You're drunk, Charlie. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't even be talking to me if you weren't. You should go to bed."

"You are probably right. I'm _very_ drunk. But, if my mom and Miles can ride off to go hook up in the middle of the night, then I feel as though I can get drunk. Getting shot hurts."

"Alright, Charlie, let's go." Monroe stood up and dusted off his hands, and then leaned down to help her up.

"I can do it. Don't touch me. It'll hurt." Charlie groaned and rolled to her side, using one hand to push up and the other to press over her wound. Monroe helped her anyway.

"Alright, let's get you upstairs. Miles'll have my ass if I get you drunk and then leave you to fall down."

"I wish I had a best friend," Charlie said, feeling very pitiful at the moment. "I only have … them." She gestured at the house and meant her family, and hoped Monroe knew that. "It's not the same."

"Yeah, well, Miles tried to shoot me one time so… Best friends aren't all they're cracked up to be."

Everything spun when Charlie stood up, but not so much that she'd vomit. Just enough to feel great and sad about everything all at once. "I love whiskey."

"You and me both," he muttered, taking her arm on her good side and slinging it around his neck. "Now, unless you wanna wake up Connor, be quiet."

Charlie snickered a little. "I do not."

"Okay then."

She tried her best to make it through the house in silence. Monroe guided her to the stairs and they took them one at a time. Wow, her tolerance was low.

"Why didn't you want to wake up Connor?" Monroe asked suddenly, pressing a hand around her hip to bypass the injury at her waist. He held a tight grip so she didn't think anything would happen to her. Namely, falling backwards down the stairs. "I thought the two of you were a thing?"

Charlie shook her head. "Haven't you ever heard of a one-night stand, Monroe? It could've been more-_maybe_-but…" She shook her head. "He said some things…" Things about Jason. "Unacceptable."

"Why did you sleep with him in the first place?" he asked quietly, leading her past her grandpa's bedroom and down the hall to hers.

"I'll tell you but you won't be happy," she snickered, pressing a hand to her mouth to mute the noise.

"Try me."

"Well, there's the surface reasons," she began, walking with Monroe through her door. Her bed lay just in front of them. "You know, I'm a girl, he's a guy type reasons. Also, it's the end the world," she informed him.

"I've heard. What else?"

She limped to a stop in front of her bed and then turned to face him. Her arm was still around his neck, but she held on tight so as not to fall. "I did it to piss you off. Somehow, I knew it would."

His eyes were dark and unreadable. "Why did you think I'd be mad?"

"I don't know," she whispered, curling her fingers around his neck. "Why _were_ you mad?"

They just looked at each other for several long moments. Neither wanted to answer the other's question. Then Monroe lowered Charlie down to a sitting position on the bed.

"You should be able to sleep now, kid."

She finally let go of his neck, but something possessed her to linger a moment longer than necessary. Even in her blurry whisky/pain haze she saw his face and how he liked it. It gave her a rush of something akin to power.

"Go to sleep."

And he walked away and left her to drift off in blackness.

XXXXX

Oh. My. God.

She wanted to groan but knew it would hurt her head too much. Which was splitting.

She'd gotten drunk with Monroe last night, that much she remembered. Combined with blood loss and pain killers, whiskey was a lethal combination.

She staggered to the door and then down the stairs. Her grandpa was sitting at the table, reading one of his old books. He looked up as she entered.

"Oh, honey, you look terrible. Here." He stood up and went off to get her presumably more pain killers.

"Late night, Charlie?"

She flinched and turned her head to see Monroe lounging out front, on the opposite side of the screen door. "Very funny," she muttered.

Gene came back and dropped two pills in her hand and gave her a glass of water. "Here, honey, let's get you to the porch for some fresh air."

"I'm fine."

But he wouldn't listen, like usual. Part of her didn't want to be around Monroe, not after he saw her all drunk and vulnerable last night. But Gene ushered her to the porch swing and helped her sit down.

"Stay here and I'll get you something to eat."

Charlie groaned and covered her eyes with a hand. Her stomach couldn't handle food right now and she was afraid that if she threw up, she'd pop some stitches.

"Don't worry, he doesn't know you got drunk last night."

"Does it look like I care?" she snapped, not moving her hand. She didn't want him thinking they were friends now or anything.

"Yeah, it kinda does. I bet you've never even been drunk in your life. It was fun, wasn't it?"

Yeah, it kinda was. Freeing, sort of, too. She felt like a tiny weight had been lifted off her chest. But she wouldn't admit that to him. "No, it wasn't. Can you leave me alone, now?"

He chuckled. "Sure, kid."

She heard him walk away and then relaxed. It was embarrassing enough to have gotten drunk in front of Monroe, but she also remembered all kinds of personal details she'd told him. What was she thinking?

Ugh.

XXXXX

The day was a waste for her. She was what Miles called 'hungover' for most of it. Literally, she spent the entire twelve to fourteen hours on the porch swing or on the couch.

Connor avoided her which was a plus. She couldn't handle him right now. He'd have the upper hand. Then he walked by and she deliberated.

"Connor," she called out, wincing as a muscle in her side spasmed. He came over, curious but hostile.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want my room tonight?" Charlie couldn't even walk up the stairs. Everything hurt and she still felt sick from the night before. "I'll sleep on the couch if you want the bed."

He paused in consideration. The couch sucked ass. "Yeah, sure. I'll get my stuff."

She closed her eyes and tried to relax now that she knew she didn't have to get up and walk up the stairs. Her grandpa kissed her good night and then went to bed. She was pretty sure Monroe was outside on guard again and then Connor was upstairs.

She drifted off for a couple hours. In her dreams, Jason was dead but alive at the same time. Tears poured down his cheeks and he walked toward her with his arms out.

"Charlie," he croaked. "I love you."

She bolted upright, awake and breathing heavy. It wasn't until a few seconds later she realized that she'd pulled a couple stitches loose and her side was in agony. She went to her knees on the floor, doubling over the couch in pain.

"Charlie? What the hell?"

Strong arms lifted her up and put her back on the couch.

"You've got a fever," someone-Monroe-muttered. Hands were at her stomach, lifting her shirt up to see the wound. "Dammit. Stay here, Charlie. I'll get the old man."

She wanted to tell him to stop, to not wake her grandpa, but she couldn't form the words. Tears poured down her cheeks, not just from the pain, but from her dream too.

"You can be happy-if you want to," someone said and she turned.

"Jason?" she whispered. He was standing in front of her clear as day. "You're dead."

Monroe and Gene came down the stairs and filled her vision. Her grandpa's face was tired but worried. "Charlie? How are you?"

"Jason," she muttered, "He's alive."

Gene exchanged a glance with Monroe. "Hallucinations. Not good. Get me some whisky."

Monroe dug the near-empty bottle out of his pocket and handed it to him. Gene poured it over his hands and then over Charlie's wound. "Hold her down. The wound is infected. It's causing a fever. I've gotta clean it out."

Charlie heard them speaking but it was all background chatter to her. The real program was Jason, flesh and blood, standing right in front of her. He was still crying and there was a huge bloody hole where his heart should be.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, heavy hands pinning her arms above her head.

"Don't be sorry. Don't you want to be happy?" Jason asked coming so close to her that she had to crane her neck to see his face.

"Yes."

He smiled and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Alright then. I'll help you."

And then she screamed, loud and piercing.

"Cover her mouth," someone shouted. "The whole town'll hear."

Someone's hand clamped down over her mouth, but she screamed and screamed as Gene cut and scrubbed the infected flesh away. She tasted salt and sweat and something chemical. The last thing she saw before blacking out was Monroe's face above her's.


End file.
